


To Love Another Person

by MaryEvH



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryEvH/pseuds/MaryEvH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras and Éponine, friends since childhood and lovers since they were teenagers, have secretly married just before the barricades rise. What will the revolution do to their marriage? Enjonine two-shot, descriptions of barricade violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Love Another Person...

Henri-François Enjolras looked 360 degrees around the area surrounding the Café Musain, surveying the work of the _Amis_. Their barricade was a little haphazard, to say the least, but he supposed that was to be expected when it was solely constructed from people throwing furniture out of windows. He couldn't help a broad grin from crossing his face. Here he was, 26 years old, with a revolution he loved, and a wife he adored even more. He and Éponine had been friends since they went to school together as children, and had fallen in love in their teenage years. Now, at 24 and 26, they were finally married, and they had the rest of their lives ahead of them. No one except Enjolras’ best friend Combeferre, and Éponine’s younger sister Azelma, knew about the marriage, and those two only knew because the couple needed witnesses for the ceremony.

Enjolras loved everything about married life, especially being married to her. To wake up with her in his arms every morning was the best thing he could have ever asked for, and he thanked God every morning that he was the man that got to hold her and kiss her goodnight every night. He loved _Patria_ , but not the way he loved her. Éponine was his perfect match, his other half – some might say his better half, though he would have strongly disagreed – but in short, she was his.

Right on cue, his bride came up behind him and put her delicate hand on his shoulder. He turned to share his grin with her, momentarily forgetting that she had disguised herself as a boy to fight at his side. They had argued about it for months before the wedding when he said he was going to lead the revolution, but Éponine insisted that if he was going to fight for the freedom of France, so was she. Eventually, he was forced to give in.

“You did it, _bien-amié_ ,” she whispered in his ear.

Enjolras smiled and allowed himself to gently kiss her forehead. “ _We_ did it,” he answered just as softly. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you, my love.”

She grinned back, kissing his cheek before she noticed Marius coming, and promptly deepened her voice to ask, “Enjolras, what else needs to be done?”

He put on what she liked to call his “revolution face” to survey the area again. “Nothing out here, Damien,” he said, using the pseudonym they had agreed on prior to the revolution. “Go find Combeferre and make sure we have all the guns stockpiled in the Café.”

She nodded sharply. “Yes, sir,” she answered in her deeper voice before heading inside to do as her husband asked.

 _Husband_. It still sounded so strange to her; they’d only been married a few months, and it was still so perfect. She loved waking up next to him every morning, sharing her day with him, and going to sleep next to him every night. Since Enjolras hadn’t quite finished law school, they hardly knew where their next meal was coming from most days, but they were happy together.

She found Combeferre and his list of firearms in the corner of the first floor. She caught his eye and walked over to him. “How are we?” She whispered in his ear.

He sighed softly, running a free hand over his face. “It’s not good, Éponine. I know it’s not nearly as much as he wanted.”

She surveyed the meager stacks of guns and ammunition. “This is it?”

“This is it.”

Éponine sighed. “I’m so afraid, Combeferre…” She confessed, spinning the thin gold band on her fourth finger. “Henri has told me how bad our chances are. We’re outgunned, outmanned…and what if he dies in this revolution? I’ll be 24, and a widow. And if I die, he’ll be 26 and a widower.”

“Which is why you’re both going to live,” Combeferre answered firmly. “Stop worrying, ‘Ponine. All the men here would give their lives to defend Enjolras, me in particular. He’s my best friend, and…” he looked around and spoke a little softer, “because you’re his wife, I’ll give my life to keep you safe as well.”

“But – ”

The young student doctor put up a hand to stop her. “Enough worrying, ‘Ponine. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”

Her mind eased a little, she wrapped the man into a hug. “Thank you, ‘Ferre,” she murmured.

 

After the building of the barricade, the day had gone on without much further event. Éponine hated not being able to be as close to Enjolras as she wanted, but she knew her identity had to be kept secret. If the National Guard caught the slightest hint that there might be a woman at the barricade, they would show less than no mercy. She knew she wasn’t safe there, but she refused to abandon her husband. Her heart swelled with pride as she watched him issue his orders and lead his men. He was doing what he wanted, and it made her love him more.

Gradually, the sun went down. As the _Amis_ retreated into the Café, she went to stand by him. “Now what?”

He sighed, sitting down on the ground. “Now…we wait.”

She sighed as well and sat next to him, looping her arm in his and leaning her head on his shoulder once they were alone in the night air. “Henri, I’m scared,” she said in a small voice.

He looked down at his wife. “Of?”

“Losing you,” she answered, holding onto his arm a little tighter. “What happens to me if you die? No one knows we’re married, except ‘Ferre and ‘Zelma, and we swore them to the utmost secrecy.”

“God forbid it happens, but if it does, there’s a marriage license with my name on it in the records of Paris city hall,” Enjolras explained. “After I die, they’ll have to go through any records in my name in order to sort through my affairs, and that will come up in their search. They’ll know that my estate and belongings will go to my wife, since I have no male next of kin. Or sons,” he murmured, his hand going to rest on her stomach as he finished.

Éponine bit her lip; she’d been waiting to deliver this news for a few weeks, since her last visit to the doctor. Combeferre had given her his sneaking suspicions when she told him what was going on, but she went to a doctor in Paris for confirmation of her theory.

“Darling…you may have a son, yet.”

         He suddenly froze against her. She looked up at him, and his eyes were wide. “Wh-what?” He whispered.

She grinned, nodding. “I’m pregnant, Henri.”

His shock melted into elation as he picked her up and spun her around, trying not to whoop out loud. “Oh, ‘Ponine!” He whispered in her ear. “We’re going to be parents!”

She squeezed the back of his shirt as they hugged. “I’m so excited,” she whispered back. “Boy or girl?”

“Do I have to choose?” He asked weakly, putting his hand back on her stomach. “Can I?”

She just smiled. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, ‘Ponine,” he whispered with just as broad a smile, leaving a few lingering, loving kisses on her lips.

But their bliss was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps.

Slowly, Enjolras released his wife, looking over her to the barricade. “They’re coming,” he whispered to her. “Get inside, now.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!” She hissed irately as the other _Amis_ started to come out of the Café, grabbing their guns and scrambling to their positions. “You said I could fight, Henri!”

“Éponine, there’s no way I’m going to let you fight while you’re carrying my child,” Enjolras said flatly. “Go inside; I’ll be there when it’s all over. I swear to you, on our marriage and our unborn child.”

Éponine scowled, but had no further time to argue with him as the soldiers’ footsteps rounded the corner. “I love you,” she mouthed, racing inside. Enjolras felt a small pang of regret as he watched her close the door, but reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. He was protecting the most important thing to him at this moment – his family.

“Hold your fire!” Marius said to the men. “Hold your fire…”

“Front pack, kneel!”

“Save your gunpowder…”

“Take aim!”

“Get down,” Marius murmured.

“Who’s there?!” The captain shouted.

Enjolras felt all eyes turn to him. _I love you, Éponine._ “French Revolution!” He shouted.

A brief pause.

“FIRE!”

Then all hell broke loose.

 

The gunfire had only been going on for two minutes at most when Éponine finally grabbed an extra gun from the corner of the Café and went back outside, the persona of “Damien” fully assumed. Pregnant or no, she couldn’t stand sitting idly inside while her husband put his life on the line.

She charged out to the barricade and quickly braced in an empty spot where she could keep an eye on Enjolras, mounting her gun against her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought be noticed her, but she didn’t look long enough to make sure. She knew he’d be furious if he did see her, but she also knew he’d take out all of his anger on the National Guard!

But then she saw a soldier climbing the barricade, aiming a gun at the back of her husband’s head. Éponine panicked. She practically flew to the other side of the barricade, screaming, “Henri, watch out!”

Just before he could pull the trigger, she wildly grabbed the gun and pointed it at her own chest.

Enjolras completely forgot himself when he heard that shot fired. “ÉPONINE! NO!” He cried out, grabbing her just before she could fall.

The battle was still raging over their heads, but for him, in that moment, everything stopped. Tears streamed down his face as he watched his beautiful beloved gasping in pain, her eyes wide, gasping for breath. She had taken a bullet for him, and he had no way to save her. “Oh, ‘Ponine…” He whispered in despair, brushing her hair back from her face. He heard the gunfire slowly fading out, and tried to ignore the stares that he could feel from the rest of the _Amis_ as the National Guard fled and their attention shifted. “Combeferre, please tell me there’s something you can do for her…” Enjolras begged. None of them had ever seen their leader in this state before, and it was honestly terrifying.

The medical student shook his head. “The bullet’s buried too deep in her chest,” he said heavily, looking down. “If I try to remove it now, she’ll certainly bleed to death. I’m so sorry, Enjolras…I’ve failed you both.”

“N-no, ‘Ferre,” Éponine managed to choke out. “You didn’t…f-fail anyone. I took that bullet…for him.”

“But why?” He sobbed.

“Be-because…” She coughed hard, and Enjolras held her a little closer, a little tighter. He knew she didn’t have much time left. “Because I wanted you to go on. This…revolution can’t…s-survive without y-you…darling, please don’t be angry with me…”

“Angry?” He choked out. “‘Ponine…how could I be angry? What am I supposed to do without you?”

She chuckled weakly. “Defend your _Patria_ , my love,” she answered, almost smiling.

Enjolras barely made a face resembling a smile as he kissed his wife’s lips. “Wait for me at the Gates of Heaven,” he whispered, tears still streaming down his face.

“Forever…” She answered, kissing him one last time before her last breath slid across his lips.

         She was gone.

Enjolras howled in grief, agony, and despair, clutching her limp form to his chest as he shook with the force of his sobs. Éponine, his beloved Éponine – his wife, the light of his existence, the reason he got out of bed in the morning – was gone forever, and she’d taken their unborn child with her. They were both gone, and he’d never had a prayer of saving them. Enjolras had never felt so miserably powerless in his life. What was going to be one of the most important days of his life had turned nightmarish with one bullet, and two lives gone.

“Enjolras…” Combeferre started to say, trying to put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Enjolras practically screamed, recoiling from his best friend’s touch and pulling his dead wife even closer, still crying.

“Enjolras, you know we have to bury her,” Combeferre said gently.

“In what? Some common grave?” He snapped. “No. I want to give her a proper headstone, with her married name.”

His best friend nodded. “Alright, we can do that. Just give her to me.”

Enjolras shook his head fervently, but he did stand up, now carrying her. “Tell me where to put her.”

The two of them walked into the back room of the Café Musain, where they’d always used to have their meetings for the revolution. The room left a bad taste in Enjolras’ mouth now as he laid Éponine down on a long table. Her eyes were closed; Enjolras thought she looked like she could have been sleeping.

And in a sense, she was.

 

“Gather around, gentlemen,” Enjolras said in a weak voice that night. The _Amis_ formed a semi-circle around their leader, awaiting what he had to say. “I know that not all of you are aware of the reasons for my…outburst today.” He paused. “However, as you probably guessed, the man we knew as ‘Damien’ was never real. He was a persona created by my wife, Éponine Thénardier-Enjolras, so that she could fight with us. She died today, taking a bullet that a National Guardsman meant for me.” His breath caught in his throat, and he had to stop to regain his composure. “But…hers was not the only life lost today.”

Marius cast him a sideways glance. “What are you saying, Enjolras?”

The Leader set his teeth and spoke softly. “Éponine was carrying our first child. She told me just before the attack.”

A collective sigh went up from all of the men, who moved to put a hand on his shoulder, or in some cases, like Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Marius, actually embrace him. Very few of them were already husbands; even fewer of them were fathers. But the ones who were knew his pain – the pain of burying a wife and child in one day.

“She was the first to fall…” Enjolras murmured. “The first to fall upon this barricade.”

“Her name was Éponine,” Marius proclaimed. “Before Enjolras, her life was cold and dark, yet she was unafraid.”

“We fight here in her name.”

“She will not die in vain.”

“She will not be betrayed.”

Enjolras managed a sad smile. “Thank you, _mes amis._ ”

 

The revolutionaries took shelter from that night’s pouring rain inside the Café. Madame Houchelop had lined up cots for each of the men in advance, in case a hospital was needed, including two pushed together that had been meant for Éponine and Enjolras. The Leader sat on the edge of his “side of the bed,” unable to sleep for the longest time. He ended up staying awake long after his troops had gone to bed.

Well, most of them.

“So. You two were married?” He heard Marius’ quiet voice next to him as he took a seat.

Enjolras nodded, absentmindedly spinning the gold band on his finger. “Four months. Almost five,” be answered just as softly.

“She was a lucky woman, to be married to you,” Marius noted.

“I was the lucky one,” Enjolras immediately countered. “She was…perfect. And now she’s gone. I’m a widower, Marius, at 26 years old. How do I go on now? Not coming home to that smile, that voice, that laugh of hers?” He whispered. “What do I do, now that I can’t hold her, kiss her, or make love to her ever again?”

“I’m so sorry,” Marius whispered; Enjolras thought he might have been tearing up as well. “I’m so sorry, Enjolras.”

“Me too, Marius,” the leader whispered feebly, finally curling up on his cot and pulling up the sheets almost over his head. “Me too.”

Marius left him then, but the whole night, he stayed awake to the sound of Enjolras’ muffled, tortured sobs.


	2. …Is To See the Face of God

Enjolras woke up feeling hollow the next morning. Partly from crying off and on all night; partly because Éponine wasn’t still sleeping next to him, wrapped up in his arms, curled against his chest. He had to try not to cry again as he thought of it.

As she had lay dying in his arms, on that worst night of his life, she had told him that the revolution couldn’t go on without him. But how was he supposed to go on without her? What was life now, what was his world, without her presence in it? A small part of him still hoped it was all just a bad dream – that any minute now, he’d wake up next to her in their little house, his revolution successful, their first baby still growing inside her…but in his heart, he knew she was gone.

Four months ago, they had made sacred vows to each other – that they would forsake all others, remain faithful to each other until death did them part. Now, Death had played a cruel trick and come for her far too soon. Now, Death held his beloved Éponine, and their baby that they never got to meet. And deep down in his angry, bitter heart, Enjolras knew that Death was laughing.

He got up from his cot and dressed mechanically, wondering if this was what the rest of life would be like without Éponine. If he lived through this revolution, would he end up becoming a bitter old widower who would eventually die alone? He placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly, harshly, to wake the men. As they grumbled and got up, dressing for the day, the Leader picked up his gun from his cot, hardly remembering how to hold it. His entire body was heavy without her touch, her smile. In that moment, Enjolras wanted nothing more than to die in this revolution, just to be with her again.

“M’sieur Enjolras!” Gavroche called out, and Enjolras had to raise his head. The little _gamin_ – his brother-in-law – was the _Amis’_ greatest spy and asset. “News for ya.”

“What is it?”

The little boy indicated for him to crouch down closer. Enjolras squatted to allow the boy to whisper in his ear. “We’re the only ones left. All the others are deserted, ‘cept for the bodies.”

Enjolras sighed heavily. “Thank you, Gavroche. Gentlemen, outside,” he said firmly. “We have news to discuss.”

“What is it, Enjolras?” Joly asked when all the men were assembled.

He sighed heavily. “Gavroche just reported to me that we’re the only barricade left.”

“What?” Marius whispered fearfully.

“We’re the only ones left,” he repeated flatly. “The people have not stirred. We are abandoned by those who still live in fear. Let us not waste lives; let all who wish to…go from here.”

Enjolras looked down as he spoke, partly to hide his tears from the men in front of him. He was their leader; he had to be strong, even in his own loss. Guilt and regret for his selfishness washed over him – he had been so fixated on his revolution, on France, and on the things that he wanted, that he hadn’t even been able to protect the one that mattered most to him. Éponine was gone, and it was entirely his fault.

But when he looked up, none of the men had moved. Most of them stood facing him, stoic-faced, arms folded across their chests. “We’re not leaving you, Enjolras,” Combeferre said firmly. “You can’t do this on your own. Especially now that Éponine’s gone.”

Before the Leader could answer, Gavroche began to sing from the top of the barricade:

 

_Do you hear the people sing?_

_Singing the song of angry men?_

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!_

Gradually, the rest of the _Amis_ joined in:

 

_When the beating of your heart_

_Echoes the beating of the drums_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes._

Enjolras suddenly found his strength renewed, and he drew in a deep breath, standing at his full height again. “Today is the day, _mes amis_ ,” he said in a loud voice. “The National Guard may come for us, they may try to break our will, but we will fight back until we are too weary to even breathe. And then we will continue. _Pro Patria!”_ he cried, raising a fist in the air.

 _“Pro Patria!”_ the _Amis_ roared, mimicking him and raising their own fists into the clear morning sky.

 

Only a few hours later, as he faced down a National Guard firing squad, Enjolras realized that he had lied to all his friends. They had all died that day – Bahorel, Bossuet, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Gavroche, Grantaire, Joly, Prouvaire…and now it was his turn. He clutched the red flag of the revolution tightly in his fist, closing his eyes bitterly. He never meant for things to end this way…no, things were supposed to go his way. Éponine should still be there, his friends should all be alive, the National Guard vanquished…

Out of the darkness in his mind came a familiar voice, singing softly from a distance.

 

_“My love, I bless your name…”_

He looked up to what he knew was the source of the sound. “I am ready, ‘Ponine,” he murmured, a sad smile crossing his face. The National Guardsmen were clearly caught off guard; many of them relaxed their stances slightly to look at him in confusion.

 

_“My love, lay down your burden…”_

 

“At the end of my days…” he whispered, biting back more tears. Hearing her voice, he knew it was time – time to go home, time to see his beloved ‘Ponine again. As he thought of her, suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. For him, death would be a release from the misery that his life had become without her in it.

“What the hell is going on?” the Captain snapped impatiently, but Enjolras hardly heard him. All he could see in front of him was the form of his wife, smiling at him.

 

_“You blessed my life with love…”_

“You were the best of my life,” he whispered, a single tear slipping from his eye.

 

_“And you will be with God…”_

 

With that last assurance, the image of her faded from his mind’s eye, and in front of him were eight rifle barrels once again. As he looked at them, his only prayer was that it would be quick, that it wouldn’t hurt, that it would all be over soon…

“Any last words, _Monsieur_ Enjolras?” the Captain sneered derisively.

Almost on cue, she reappeared.

 

_“Come with me, where chains will never bind you,_

_All your grief at last, at last behind you._

_Lord in Heaven, look down on him in mercy…”_

 

The Leader looked him straight in the eye for just a moment. “Forgive me all my trespasses, and take me to your glory…” he looked back up to the sky. “I’ll see you soon, ‘Ponine.”

The Captain gave his men the signal, and eight guns simultaneously fired. Enjolras felt the bullets pierce his body, the pain overwhelming as he fell back out the window behind him, still holding onto the flag. He felt his life starting to slip away – he knew when the pain started to fade that it would all be over soon. His breathing grew heavy as he shut his eyes, and there she was again…

 

_“Take my hand, I’ll lead you to salvation._

_Take my love, for love is everlasting._

_And remember, the truth that once was spoken…_

_To love another person is to see the face of God.”_

_The pain was suddenly gone, and Enjolras felt as though he were floating. He looked over his body, which was, to his surprise, completely unmarked. He looked as though he had never been wounded._

_He looked up, and there she was._

_“Éponine?”_

_“Welcome home, love,” she smiled._

_This had to be a dream, Enjolras was certain. He looked back down at his hands again, and back at her. “Am…I…?”_

_She nodded. “We’re in Heaven. Together again, just like we wanted.”_

_Enjolras reached out to her in disbelief. His hand met her cheek, and he could feel her warmth against his skin. He wept for joy, pulling her into a tight embrace. “Oh, my darling Éponine…” he whispered into her hair. “I missed you so.”_

_She leaned up to kiss his lips. “I missed you too,” she smiled. “Come on, the others are waiting.”_

_And together, they walked hand-in-hand into eternity._


End file.
